Olivia’s Luck (2000) (30 page)

“Yes, of course we are, darling. We’re just coming, aren’t we, Olivia?” She turned pleading eyes on me. I stared. Looked at Imo. Back to Ursula. Nodded dumbly. “Excellent!” she breathed. “Come along now!”

Her iron grip once more took up position under my elbow, and as she marched me, lamblike to the slaughter, along the ancient stone passages, beaten almost hollow with age, I realised where Imogen got it from – this desire to be first; to be top; to be the best. As long as I’d known her she’d strived for perfection, which of course was laudable, but it also meant she couldn’t settle for anything less. And Imo had yet to settle.

“Here we are!” Her mother stopped suddenly, raised her knuckles, and gave a sharp tap at the refectory door. It was instantly opened by a lackey.

To my relief, the room was packed. Teeming, actually, full to the brim with the orchestra, presumably their friends and relatives, and various sundry hangers-on. Ursula looked momentarily disappointed since we clearly weren’t the chosen few – let alone the chosen multitude – but, happily, Hugo Simmonds was close to the door. He spotted her instantly and, raising his glass above the crush, came squeezing across to greet her.

“Ursula!”

“Hugo! My dear I hope you don’t mind us barging in, but Olivia here knows Sebastian
terribly
well and we just wanted to pop by and congratulate you both! Imo – say hello to Hugo!”

“M-mind? Heavens, I’m d-delighted!” he said, flicking his hair back nervously. He almost came out in a muck sweat as Imogen diligently obeyed orders and kissed him on the cheek. His glasses all but steamed up.

“It’s 1-lovely to see you, Imogen. D-did you enjoy it?” he stammered. I was stunned. Was this the same commanding man of moments ago?

“It was wonderful,” Imo enthused warmly, “really wonderful, Hugo.”

“Thank you,” he gasped. “I’m s-so glad you came. I w-wanted to ask you but w-wasn’t sure if you’d…I-I must say, Imogen,” he gulped, “you look absolutely marvellous.” His grey eyes roved admiringly over the Grecian curls, the tanned, smooth shoulders, the slim brown legs and for a moment, he forgot to stutter. “An absolute vision,” he declared roundly.

“He wants to give her one right now,” muttered Hugh in my ear. “Behind the choir stalls. Can’t wait. And I’ll tell you something else, old Ursula Mitchell wouldn’t mind if he did.”

I giggled, but I was simultaneously scanning the room nervously for Sebastian. Ah, there he was, right over the other side, thank God, with his back to me. His dark head protruded a couple of inches higher than the swarm of people he was talking to. If I stayed right here by the door, had a quick drink and slipped away in two minutes flat, I’d be fine. I’d done my duty, got old Ursula in; yes, I could be away. I kept my eyes firmly on that head lest it should suddenly turn, took a glass of champagne from a tray as it passed by, and sipped and stared. As I did, I grew more and more incredulous. I simply couldn’t believe it. Could
not
believe who he was. Christ, I mean, he’d never said, had he? Never mentioned it, and he’d had ample opportunity, surely? Had he, though? I racked my brains, trying to remember where I’d first met him. Of course, at Nanette’s. God, bloody Nanette, who knowing no better had billed him, first as a lunatic, and then as a
teacher
, for heaven’s sake. What planet was she on?

“I think he’s rather cute,” murmured Molly in my ear, crunching a pistachio nut. “Can’t think why you thought he was certifiable.”

“Molly, you thought so too!” I hissed. “When I told you about Claudia turning up in his house, you said I shouldn’t apologise in person because it all sounded very iffy! I distinctly remember!”

“Yes, but that was before I knew who he was, before I’d seen him in the flesh. Anyone can see the man’s totally normal. In fact,” she squinted, “he’s really rather handsome.” She inched round to get a better view of the side of his face, pulling me with her. “You told me he was a long-haired loner who ran about in jim-jams.”

“Yes, well, he’s wearing a dinner jacket now, isn’t he, and he’s had his hair cut.”

I had to agree, though, that with a good couple of inches off his hair so that one could see those dark, slightly slanting eyes which ran parallel with high cheekbones, he looked a different person. Quite a presence.

“He’s got such a sensitive face,” she murmured.

“Oh rubbish,” I scoffed. “If anything he’s got an arrogant face. You’re only saying that because you know he’s a composer. If he was a doctor you’d say he had a caring face, and if he was an artist you’d say he had an artistic face, and for heaven’s sake stop staring, Mol. He’ll see us!”

I realised in panic that we’d drifted away from the door, and that our exit was now blocked by a few more newcomers. I desperately tried to fight my way back, simultaneously scrabbling in my bag for my car keys. Time to go. Definitely time to go.

“He can’t see us, Liwy,” Molly said as I rooted about in my bag. “He’s far too swamped by all those luwies. Just look at them fawning. They’re practically kissing the hem of his jacket.”

Having at least found my programme in my bag, I used it to shield my face and peep over. She was right: people were literally queuing up to talk to him.

“Was he nice when you went over?” she whispered, eyes glued.

“What?”

“When you went round to apologise, what did he say?”

“Oh, I didn’t go round in the end. I did as you said, I sent a – ” Christ. A note. Had I sent a note? My mind fled back. I’d written one, certainly, and failed to drop it in because of his mother, so then I’d gone home to write another, but…I went cold. “Oh God!”

“What?”

“I forgot to write a letter!” I clasped my mouth. “Oh, Molly, I forgot to do it! Forgot to apologise!”

She looked at me in horror. “You mean…he still thinks – that you still think – ”

“I’ve got to get out of here, Mol,” I said urgently. “Got to, before he sees me. Come on,” I turned and lunged for the door.

“Too late,” she muttered in my ear.

I swung my head to see – Sebastian Faulkner, pale-faced, stony-eyed, who had not only seen me, but was making determined strides in my direction, pushing fixedly through the madding throng, his dark eyes as hard as a couple of flints.

“Help!” I squealed, as I pushed for freedom, but we were three deep from the door now, and Molly’s heavily pregnant state made it nigh on impossible to shove through. I felt like a fox being hunted, the hounds right on my tail, but as I glanced back, panic-stricken, I suddenly saw Ursula Mitchell step out right in front of him, blocking his path.

“Mr Faulkner,
might
I say how absolutely marvellous I thought that was!” she gushed. “I honestly don’t think I’ve enjoyed a piece of music so much since I heard Pascalle conduct Beethoven’s Fifth with the Berlin Philharmonic in Rome, which I was privileged enough to go to last year with a great friend of mine Lady Farqurson, and I have to say, that even
that
occasion, momentous though it was, didn’t
quite
send shivers up my spine the way that
your
symphony did tonight! Truly magnificent, maestro!”

He gave a small bow. “Thank you,” he muttered, and made to sidestep her, his eyes still fixed and predatory, but dear old Ursula hadn’t finished. She blocked his way – bless her – and gave him another earful, just as I, managing to barge past Molly and make a desperate lunge for the door, arrived to find that the only obstacle between me and freedom was Rollo, leaning laconically against it, and holding forth about Faulkner to a couple of credulous college students.

“…such powerful stanzas, yet such insight into the common lot. One feels almost humbled by his power, his presence, his – Ow!” he yelped weedily as I barged up. “That was my foot!”

“Move,” I hissed shamelessly, elbowing him roughly.

“Sorry?”

“Move out of the way!”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake get out of my way and stop bloody spitting at me!” I shrieked, wiping my face.

He frowned. “Olivia, are you all right? You look a bit – ”

“Tra-la-la-la-la-diddly-dah!” trilled a loud soprano behind us. I jerked my head back to see Ursula, who, much to Imo’s embarrassment, was now giving the composer her own cringe-making rendition of her favourite bits, still blocking his path. “That’s the phrase I just adored,” she beamed, “at the beginning of the second movement.
So
bewitching with that lovely lilting melody, and such a contrast to the first movement. In fact, I was saying to someone…” She tried desperately to catch Sebastian’s eyes, which were not on her at all. “Mr Faulkner, I was saying to – ” she gave up and followed his gaze. “Olivia! I was saying to Olivia, who, of course, you know!”

In one bony swoop of her arm, like python snatching its prey, she lunged out, plucked my arm, and pulled hard, sweeping me into her inner circle. I felt like a child being hauled before the head. My knees began to knock, and my eyes, when I finally dared to raise them, found his: cold, dark and forbidding. He gave me a look that froze my spine.

“You
do
know each other, don’t you, Olivia?” insisted Ursula, in case I’d made it up.

“Yes, we, um, do.” I faltered.

“Unhappily,” he barked sharply, and I could see his hands clenching by his sides.

Ursula’s social smile quivered. “I-I’m sorry, did you say – ”

“Oh, thank God!” shrieked a shrill voice behind us. Suddenly Molly burst through, pushing people out of the way, clutching her huge stomach, eyes wild. “I’ve got the most frightful pains, Liwy, terrible stomach cramps, and Hugh’s too drunk to drive! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Would you be an angel and take me home?”

“Oh, my dear!” Ursula was all consternation. “Are they labour pains, d’you think? Are you about to have it? Do you need an ambulance?”

Molly staggered about a bit, enjoying herself hugely. “Noo, noo,” she gasped bravely, “I think I’ll be – AAARGHHH!” She clutched my arm suddenly and sank to her knees. Ursula jumped back in horror. “No, I’ll be fine, really,” she gasped, straightening up, face racked with simulated pain. “I’m sure it’s too soon, not due for days yet, it’s just that I must lie down, you see, put my feet up and – Hugh!” She gasped with relief as her husband pushed his way through. “Oh, Hugh darling, so sorry, ghastly pains. Liwy’s going to drive us home! Bye, all, thank you 50 much Mrs Mitchell, lovely party, lovely concert!”

She’d played her part perfectly, and we’d undoubtedly have made a seamless exit were it not for Hugh, who, loving a drama, and having not worked in one for a while, was delighted to stumble across this one. He threw himself into it shamelessly.

“Darling!” he cried. “Oh God, darling, are you all right? Shall I ring Mr Kenny?”

“Mr Kenny?” Ursula blinked. “Isn’t he the Queen’s gynaecologist?”

Hugh straightened up. “He’s my wife’s gynaecologist,” he informed her soberly. “What he does in his spare time is his own affair, we all have to make a living. Come, my dear.” He supported Molly’s bulk as she collapsed, groaning, on to his shoulder. “Come, I’ll help you to the – Christ!” Hugh leapt back theatrically as there was a sudden splash on the floor between Molly’s legs. Everyone gasped.

“Oh God, it’s your waters!” cried Hugh, a mysteriously empty glass in his hand, insanity in his eyes.

Molly looked genuinely horror-struck. “Good God.” She stared down at the puddle. Blinked. “I didn’t even feel it!”

“Ah well, that’s mother nature for you,” muttered Hugh, manoeuvring his wife expertly through the gaping throng, which was parting like the Red Sea now, and towards a hurriedly opened door. “It eases you into it gently, lulls you into a false sense of security but, mark my words, it’ll be the stirrups and the forceps for you before the night is out. You’ll be biting through my hand, kicking innocent bits of furniture and being sensationally abusive to the medical team. It’ll be just like Henry all over again! Come, Liwy, to the hospital, please, and don’t spare the horses! Mind your backs, good people, mind your backs. Bye all, wish us well!”

“Bye!” I managed to squeak as Hugh ushered us out.

As the door shut behind us, we fled down the corridor. Back through the nave, we raced, down the side aisle of the empty Abbey, our feet echoing wildly on the flagstones. Hugh and I were on either side of Molly, who, the size of a barrage balloon, was running for England. Down the steps we clattered, through the huge oak doors and out into the garden, where, under a leafy tree and the safety of darkness, we threw ourselves on to a bench, collapsing in an hysterical, giggling heap.

“Oh God,” I gasped, as we fought for control. “Oh Molly, you were marvellous. I didn’t know you had it in you! You should be the one out there treading the boards. I thought you were going to have it right there and then!”

“Bloody hell, so did I!” she gasped. “It took me a moment to realise my waters hadn’t gone!”

“Ah me,” sighed Hugh, wiping his eyes happily, “I haven’t enjoyed myself so much since I was a spear carrier in
Hamlet
and Ophelia sat on my spike. Did you see Ursula’s face? Horrified that Molly might be about to commit the ultimate social sin of
dilating in public
! I was about to offer to have a quick peek at your cervix, Mol, but I thought that might be going too far.”

“Far too far,” I agreed sternly, mopping my eyes, “the Frascati on the floor was bad enough.”

“Ah, but we saved your bacon, eh, Liwy old girl?” Hugh slung an arm round my shoulders as we struggled to our feet. “Christ, he was going to have you for breakfast! I’ve never seen such murder in a man’s eyes. It damn nearly wiped the smile off my face, I can tell you, and it takes a lot to do that. He was hopping mad.”

“But justifiably, surely,” I said more soberly, as we made for the car park. “Don’t you think? I mean, after what I’d accused him of?”

“God, I should say,” agreed Molly warmly. “I’m surprised he didn’t just biff you on the nose and have done with it.”

I stopped. “And then he had to witness our ridiculous charade. And I’m sure he knew it was a charade. I saw his face at one point. He knew I was trying to slip through the net again, so once again I’ve done him a disservice, haven’t I?” I bit my lip. “I didn’t go and apologise when I should have done, and I couldn’t even stand my ground in there and do it then.” I swallowed.